Epilogue
Eight months had passed since she had left Soza. For Nargol, the time had moved both slowly and swiftly like a river that seemed calm on the surface but carried a great force beneath the surface.
Now she stood within the courtyard of Angarth Keep, watching the sacred fire grow.
Tonight, the clans of Aghon gathered not for war.
But for a union.
The courtyard had been transformed. Towering stone pillars that stood around the area were draped with the banners of every clan snapping boldly in the evening breeze. Each clan was represented by a color. They each formed a living tapestry of Aghon’s history.
At the center of the courtyard, the ceremonial fire burned bright within a wide iron basin. Thick logs crackled, and sparks climbed into the darkening sky. The scent of nimite wood burning drifted through the air.
Hundreds of orcs filled courtyard.
Warriors in ceremonial armor. Elders wrapped in clan furs. Merchants, healers, craftsmen, and travelers who had come from every corner of the county were present.
The stone terraces above the courtyard were packed with spectators.
Even humans had come.
Word had traveled far beyond the walls of Udenia.
An orc general bonding with a human woman was something the world had never seen.
Near the outer ring, Nargol spotted a small cluster of familiar faces among the human guests.
Phoebe and a couple of the other women who had been rescued stood together watching the ceremony preparations with wide eyes and excitement.
Orlena and Phoebe had grown close over the past few months.
Phoebe was one of the women who had decided to say and now worked with the local orc healers.
Their presence filled Nargol with quiet satisfaction. Her mate would be happy that they’d attended.
The world was changing.
Tonight was proof.
A low drum sounded.
The murmuring of the crowd gradually quieted. Nargol’s gaze landed on her parents who sat on one side facing the fire with the other esteemed guests and distant family members who’d arrived to witness the ceremony.
Nargol straightened. The drum was her cue.
She wore her finest dress uniform—black ceremonial armor polished to a mirror sheen.
Silver etching of the Nidani clan sigil traced the edges of the plates.
A deep-crimson cloak hung from her shoulders, the crest of her clan embroidered across the back.
At her hip rested a ceremonial dagger identical to the one she would soon give away.
She touched its hilt briefly then lifted her gaze. Across the courtyard, the elder priestess stepped forward.
Shagar looked every bit the ancient authority she was. Her robes flowed in layered black and bronze fabric embroidered with the sacred runes of old orc traditions. Silver rings adorned her tusks, and long white braids fell across her shoulders.
She had presided over the bonding ceremony of Magoza and Amuleta six months earlier.
Now she would witness another.
Shagar raised one weathered hand. Silence settled over the courtyard. Her voice carried easily through the crowd.
“We gather beneath the sky and before the fire to witness a bond. Not of possession, but of fate.” The fire crackled beside her. Her gaze moved slowly across the crowd. “Not of weakness, but of strength between two.”
A low murmur of approval rippled through the clans. Then the drums sounded again. Nargol’s pulse quickened. She stepped forward first in the Walk of Choice.
The stone beneath her boots felt strangely distant as she approached the fire circle. Warriors parted respectfully when she passed. Nods and fists slamming against their chests in a show of fealty and respect.
She took her place beside the fire.
Moments later, another drumbeat echoed.
Nargol turned, and the breath was ripped right out of her lungs.
Orlena stepped into the courtyard. For a moment, everything stood still.
Orlena’s gown shimmered in the firelight.
It had been crafted by the finest designers in Udenia.
A fusion of human elegance and orc tradition.
The dress flowed in soft ivory fabric embroidered with crimson thread along the sleeves and hem.
Orcish knot patterns wound across the bodice like living vines. A silver chain rested at her waist.
Her dark hair flowed loosely down her back. It was adorned with small iron clasps shaped like leaves. She looked radiant.
At her side walked her brother, Tashard.
A swell of gratitude filled Nargol, and she gazed upon the man who shared similar features to her mate.
Their reunion months ago had been emotional beyond words.
Tashard had searched for his sister for years—even traveled to Soza where Yambul had told him Orlena had escaped and headed west.
Hence how he’d ended up on the western coast.
He’d given up and settled in Begoz after finding work.
Yet now the siblings walked side by side again. Tashard escorted Orlena forward with quiet pride. Four orc warriors followed behind them as ceremonial guards.
When they reached the fire circle, Tashard placed his sister’s hand gently into Nargol’s. He stared at Nargol for a brief moment.
“Thank you for returning Orlena to my life. I can never repay you,” he said.
Nargol met his gaze and nodded.
“You don’t ever have to thank me for making my mate happy,” she said.
He stepped back. Shagar watched them both carefully as she and Orlena turned to face her.
“Do you come here freely?” Shagar asked.
“I do,” Nargol answered without hesitation. Her voice carried strong across the courtyard.
“And you?” Shagar turned to Orlena.
“I do.” Orlena’s voice trembled. She faced Nargol with her eyes burning with love.
“Then let the Sharing of Iron begin,” Shagar announced.
An attendant brought forward two velvet cushions.
Upon the first rested the dagger Nargol had chosen.
She lifted it carefully. The blade gleamed, bright and flawless.
The hilt had been wrapped in dark leather and engraved with delicate patterns symbolizing unity.
Nargol turned toward Orlena and held it out to her.
“This blade represents my strength and my promise to protect you. Stand beside you and face whatever comes at us,” she said.
Orlena’s eyes glistened, then she reached for the second cushion.
She lifted her object. Gasps rippled quietly through the crowd. It was unlike anything most had never seen.
An iron bow.
Elegant, powerful, and forged with effortless balance. The metal limbs curved gracefully outward, etched with intricate designs and a script she couldn’t decipher. Orlena held it out to Nargol.
“I had this made for you,” she said softly. Her voice steadied when she continued. “You showed me the strength of the world. I wanted to bring something of mine into yours.”
Nargol accepted the bow slowly. It was beautiful and unique. She ran her fingers over the script and glanced up at Orlena.
“What does it say?” she asked.
“It’s an ancient language of my people. It says I will always love you,” Orlena said. A smile spread across her beautiful face.
Nargol grinned. She had been teaching Orlena how to read Orcish since they had arrived in Udenia. Her blade had a certain message on it as well, but her mate could read it later.
“Now the vows.” Shagar stepped forward.
Nargol placed the bow back onto the cushion and took Orlena’s hands in hers. They stared at each other for a moment. Then Nargol went first.
“I claim you as my heart’s companion. Forever will it beat for you.
I will stand beside you in war and peace.
Your enemies will face my blade.” Nargol’s voice ended on a growl.
She dared anyone—human, orc, or any other being—to step up to her mate.
She would cut any and all of them down to protect her.
Orlena tightened her grip on Nargol’s hands.
“I dreamed of the day I would find the one for me. Then you came and rescued me. Where you are is where I belong,” Orlena said.
Shagar came forward and took one of each of their hands and tied a crimson cord around their joined wrists. The crowd watched in reverent silence.
“Their bond has been blessed by the gods. How say you, Aghon?” Shagar called out.
Each clan leader stood from where they sat and called out their acceptance. Those in attendance shouted their approvals as well. Nargol looked over at the gathering. Orcs. Humans. Warriors. Friends. Family.
Shagar raised their joined hands and held them high.
“The bond is forged!” Shagar shouted. She dropped their arms, leaving them tied together.
Nargol used it to her advantage and brought Orlena close to her. Orlena leaned into her with a radiant smile.
“Mate,” she whispered.
“My mate,” Nargol growled.
Music filled the courtyard. Fires were lit on the terraces, providing more light. The celebration would carry on well into the wee hours of the morning.
“I love you,” Orlena whispered.
Nargol bent down and claimed her lips in front of all to see.
Beneath the banners of Aghon, surrounded by clans who had witnessed their bond, she knew with absolute certainty that her little mate was going to help change the world.
Make it stronger.
For everyone—orcs and humans.
She lifted her head and placed another kiss on Orlena’s swollen lips. Nargol offered a wide grin at the dazed look in her eyes.
“Let’s feast and celebrate with Aghon, then I will carry you away and feast on you, doakir.”
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